We Need To Talk

This morning, when longtime hubby caught me schlepping in the chairs from the garage, he looked very alarmed. "We need to talk," he said. So we talked. And our conversation went nothing like this:
"Honey?"
"Yes, honey?"
"You're scaring me."
"Why?"
"You're setting the table for Thanksgiving."
"So?"
"It's two weeks away."
"So?"
"Two. Weeks."
"Uh huh."
"Fourteen days."
"From today. I know. So?"
"So aren't you being a little... obsessive?"
"Obsessive. Compulsive. Pick your neurosis."
"But why?"
"Setting the table calms me down."
"Oh."
"It's my escape."
"Okay."
"My moment of Zen."
"Ah."
"My way to shut out the world."
"Got it."
"Are we done with the intervention? I need to iron the tablecloth."
"We're done. I just wanted to make sure you're not having a complete mental breakdown."
"Well, duh. Of course, I am. That's why I'm setting the table."

My table looks nothing like this.